


Ghosts

by goldensprite



Category: Bleach
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Rape Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensprite/pseuds/goldensprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the request: Kensei/Ichigo rape-fantasy. "In the very darkest corner in the back of his mind, Ichigo thought about it; of being dirty, of being defiled. As it turns out, Kensei was more than willing to help."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts

‘I could have taken care of that by myself, you know.’

The tall man only turned his head slightly at Ichigo’s words; his back was still bent as he stowed his zanpaktou away into the cargo pocket of his pants.

Ichigo shivered slightly, cold air brushing uncomfortably across his back and thighs and arms. When he’d felt the Hollow’s reiatsu he’d snuck quickly out of swimming practice, ran straight to his locker for his Substitute Shinigami Badge then sped off to the source.

He hadn’t expected someone would beat him to it.

‘I was nearby,’ Kensei said, straightening up and turning to look at him. ‘You’re supposed to be in school anyway.’

His sharp gold eyes took in Ichigo’s quivering, goose-bumped frame, and Ichigo felt another shiver run through him that had nothing to do with cold. His cock stirred slightly in his swim trunks – it was dreamlike, almost, standing in the playground he had often played in as a child, nearly naked, before the very man he had been fantasising about in the shower that morning. His inner Hollow began to rouse, and he shushed it into silence.

Kensei saw the badge in Ichigo’s hand and his eyes narrowed for a second. ‘Why didn’t you use that before you came here?’

Ichigo shrugged. ‘If I use it before I take off someone will find my empty body lying somewhere. Makes more sense to just do it this way.’  


He wondered where Kensei’s gigai was, where he’d been going for him to be ‘nearby’. Ichigo himself hadn’t been on the playground since he’d fallen off something and fractured his arm as a kid.

One of Kensei’s eyebrows quirked up. ‘And? Aren’t you worried about someone seeing you talking to yourself?’

The playground was empty at this time of day; most kids were in school for now. ‘Not really.’

Kensei leaned against the blue steel helicopter on the playground (the very one he had fallen off, Ichigo realised), folding his arms in front of him. Ichigo didn’t know it was possible for Kensei’s gaze to grow any more piercing or intense, but it did. Being the focus of that stare made him gulp.

‘You really aren’t, are you…’

It sounded more like he was talking to himself than to Ichigo, half muttering his words. Ichigo opened his mouth to respond, to ask what Kensei meant, but all the breath was suddenly forced from his body: he found himself pushed up against the steel aeroplane behind him – metal bars digging into his flesh, so cold they almost burned him – as Kensei shoved him, crushing him with his bodyweight. Ichigo felt a hand ghost over his hipbone, straying dangerously near his crotch; at the back of his mind he could hear his inner Hollow whining. Kensei easily tore the swim trunks from his body and wrapped his rough fingers around Ichigo’s already half-erect cock, drawing a long moan from his throat.

Kensei’s mouth was close to his; Ichigo could feel his breath (could smell mint toothpaste and liquorice) when he spoke.

‘Want people to see you like this, Ichigo?’

Ichigo’s mouth went dry. In the very darkest corner in the back of his mind, he had thought about it; of being dirty, of being defiled. 

He never would have dreamed Kensei would be more than willing to help.

‘K-Ken-’

‘Shut up.’

His blood was flowing hotter at the sound of that rough voice, at being ordered, being forced, and he could hear his inner Hollow whimpering with need. His cock was fully erect now, pulsing in Kensei’s hand – Kensei must have felt that, because he squeezed, drawing his thumb over the tip, growling.

Ichigo moaned, pushing his hips against Kensei’s fist, his vision growing blurry around the edges. Weakly, he brought his arms up, resting them against Kensei’s shoulders.

‘Don’t touch me.’

Ichigo gaped at him, uncomprehending. Kensei shrugged his hands off, taking them in his free hand and pinning them above Ichigo’s head, pushing them into one of the steel bars above. Impossibly, Ichigo found his fingers wrapping around, spurred on by some distant muscle memory, he supposed; his fingers dimly recalling that the slender, rust-rough bars were for gripping, for climbing.

Kensei began to stroke him – no, not stroke; it was too harsh for that. He began to _pump_ him; fast, rough pulls of his hand, growing faster and rougher, Ichigo’s breathing following suit, tearing from between his lips and landing against Kensei’s neck. Kensei’s gaze was as detached and impassive as ever, and somehow it made Ichigo’s moans that much deeper, made his cock pulse that much harder. He was dripping precome, deliciously lubricating the friction of Kensei’s hand, making Ichigo grip the bars tight and buck his hips into Kensei’s movements.

Over Kensei’s shoulder Ichigo’s half-open eyes could still make out the blue steel helicopter he’d fallen from. He had known perfectly well how to take care of a fracture – his father owned the town clinic for god’s sake – but nobody would hear him out. Nobody _could_ hear him out through his howls and cries; the meticulous safety procedures Isshin had drilled into him hadn’t prepared him for the _pain_ he’d felt when he fell. The parents of a child he didn’t know had taken him to Ishida Ryuuken’s hospital…

He shut his eyes, trying to block out the world around him. Half of him wanted to laugh – the longer he stayed there, the more he remembered about playing there as a kid. He could smell the chlorine from the dried poolwater on his skin, and leaves and dirt and Kensei, sharp and masculine and overpowering, but there were also ghost-smells, coming and going – he could smell chocolate milk and cookies, he could smell the synthetic-plastic smell of the paints they used in art class (Thursdays, last period) and the faded lavender perfume his art teacher used to wear, could smell the medicine and sickness and death of Ishida Ryuuken’s hospital.

The hand on his cock stopped moving, and Kensei’s fingers closed around his throat, his thumb pressing hard against Ichigo’s adam’s apple. The pressure caught him on the exhale, and his eyes flew open. He could hear the choking, rasping sounds he was making, and beneath those he could hear his inner Hollow, howling with pleasure; when Ichigo blinked he could see him on the backs of his eyelids, rolling onto his back, his white-irised eyes glassy and dazed.

‘Keep. Your. Eyes. Open.’

Ichigo’s eyes were open – wide open – but Kensei didn’t let up; if anything he tightened his hold until Ichigo’s entire body was constricting with the need for air. He was beating his shoulders against Kensei’s torso, trying to make him let go, desperate, ugly noises wrenching from his throat. Kensei’s face was expressionless.

Ichigo figured it out. He stilled himself and forced his head to move, first up, then down, once. _Yes._

Kensei’s hand fell back against his side, and Ichigo spluttered and coughed, sucking in air. The fingers of Kensei’s other hand wrapped around Ichigo’s cock again and squeezed. Ichigo groaned – he was harder than he had ever been before, and his cock felt so heavy he found his knees buckling, wanting to give in to gravity and sink to the ground to ease the weight between his thighs.

Kensei grabbed his drooping hands again and forced them back onto the bars (where they obediently opened and grasped), his other hand leaving Ichigo’s cock and coming up to press three rough, broad fingers against his lips. Ichigo could smell himself on Kensei’s fingers, and felt his cheeks burn in shame while his inner Hollow shrieked and laughed with delight.

‘Open.’

He parted his lips a little, too little, and Kensei’s fingers forced them apart the rest of the way, pushing in so fast it made him gag. He tasted his precome on Kensei’s skin and gagged again – how could he grow so hard at being treated like this? What was wrong with him?

**~Don’t pretend, King. Isn’t this exactly what you’ve been fantasising about? You want this. ~**

_–I don’t–_

**~You’re whining and leaking and bucking like a whore. ~**

_–I **don’t** –_

His Hollow laughed, high and screeching.

**~Keep thinking that. You’d best get sucking though, otherwise this is gonna kill you.~**

Ichigo’s eyes widened as Kensei’s fingers rocked in and out of his mouth, and he began to suck desperately, trying to get them as wet as possible. They slid out of his mouth, saliva dribbling down his chin as he tried to follow, and slipped down.

‘Spread.’

Ichigo whined. But his knees were spreading apart already; he knew there was no disobeying that voice.

Kensei bent his head slightly, and Ichigo felt wet fingers brushing against his balls. His thighs snapped back together again against the feeling. Against him, Kensei grew still. Ichigo was suddenly terrified – he realised that Kensei was waiting, giving him a chance to correct his mistake. And he didn’t want to know how much time he had. He spread his legs apart, wide, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. He felt Kensei’s fingers between his ass-cheeks, spreading them.

Ichigo’s gaze skittered over the playground, from the see-saw to the roundabout to the slides. He realised he could hear ghost-voices, too, calling out the chants and rhymes and nonsense-songs from long ago, could hear ring-a-rosie and honey-do-you-love-me and one-potato-two-potato rising and falling around him in sing-song children’s cadences, so real he could swear the playground was full of children if his eyes were shut.

_I have ten fingers_  
And they all belong to me,  
I can make them do things,  
Would you like to see? 

Something cold and wet pushed inside him slightly, making him gasp and jerk his hips forward to try and escape. Kensei growled and pushed harder, slipping his finger inside him so deep Ichigo felt like he couldn’t accommodate any more. But Kensei pushed inside further and further. Ichigo bit down hard on his bottom lip, body flushing hot with shame. He could hear still the ghost-voices from long ago, singing happily, and his inner Hollow, crying out and moaning.

The finger inside him pulled out and in, not gentle, not giving him any time to adjust. A second finger pushed inside.

**~That feels so good…~**

Ichigo felt his bottom lip begin to bleed. The fingers inside him spread slightly, rhythmically, opening and shutting, opening and shutting.

_I can shut them up tight_  
I can open them wide  
I can put them together  
I can make them all hide 

Ichigo screwed his eyes shut. He realised his body was pushing back against Kensei’s hand, burning for more friction, and he stopped, freezing his hips, gripping the bars harder and harder. He could hear Kensei’s breathing, ridiculously even and calm beneath his own frenzied, frantic breaths. He felt Kensei’s body shift, and then a third finger slipped inside him.

Kensei stepped on something, cracking it, and Ichigo remembered the sound he had heard when he’d fallen off the blue helicopter, impossibly loud and resonant in his head, the terrifying snap of breaking bone. He had never known pain like that before, so hot and immediate and demanding. The nurse at the hospital had smelled of eucalyptus, and she’d sung to him and rocked him, shushing him as he howled and cried.

The fingers withdrew from him. He heard a zipper being undone, heard fabric swishing. Cold air blew against the wet skin between his ass-cheeks, drying it uncomfortably, making him itch. The skin inside him felt rubbed-raw, burning and painful. He heard Kensei spit, and then there were quick, slippery noises.

Kensei’s hand closed around his jaw, crushing.

‘Open your eyes.’

Ichigo opened them, although he couldn’t see much; his eyes were watery. He preferred it that way. Maybe if he tried to keep them open for as long as possible before he blinked, his eyes would keep watering and his vision would stay blurry.

‘You’d better hold on tight, because I’m not going to hold you up.’

Ichigo’s grip on the bars tightened, and he wondered just why his body gave in so easily, complying with Kensei’s orders before his mind even registered their meaning. 

**~Because he’s strong, Your Majesty. Much stronger than you. Strong enough to make you weak.~**

His inner Hollow sounded breathless and elated. Kensei’s body pushed close, and Ichigo felt something pulsing and wet push between his ass-cheeks. His chest constricted; he felt empty and insubstantial, he wanted to cry. His head was aching, his muscles were sore, his fingers hurt from holding on so tight.

His cock was aching.

_Honey, do you love me?  
Honey, I love you, but I just can’t smile…_

Kensei shoved himself inside. Ichigo heard his own shrill cry mingling with his Hollow’s cry inside his head, sharp and desperate. Kensei gripped his hips and pulled Ichigo further onto his cock, his low, rumbling breaths falling against Ichigo’s shoulder. Before Ichigo even registered that he was full, that Kensei’s balls were brushing against him, Kensei jerked Ichigo upward, then slammed him down again and again, moving Ichigo up and down on his cock.

Ichigo was sobbing, choked and harsh. His Hollow was crooning and yowling, screaming desperate praise to the sideways sky above him.

Kensei tilted Ichigo’s hips when he pulled him down, and Ichigo screamed; Kensei’s cock was pressing against him in a way that made him feel even fuller, was rubbing against the flesh inside him in a way that made his cock twitch and spasm and leak. The pressure made Ichigo feel like his body was somehow _tighter_ , like his skin couldn’t contain him anymore, and Kensei was rubbing against it again and again and again…

Kensei was grunting, slamming Ichigo up and down so hard it made him dizzy, made his teeth clash together each time. His back grated against the metal bars behind him and his fingers had gone numb long ago. He could hear the swings creaking as the wind pushed them to and fro, could remember the way the paint flaked against your skin when you sat on them. He remembered what it felt like to push yourself up as high as you could and swing and swing, your body penduluming and free-falling with nothing but wind and noise; when you went that high, that fast, words couldn’t catch up with you.

_do you love me I love you but I just can’t smile just can’t smile_

You could hear singing; no words, only melody. And you could hear laughter. Ichigo used to think of going fast as going at the speed of laughter, faster and faster, swinging on and on, side by side, until you might overtake it one day, streaking far and fast ahead and leaving tears far behind you.

‘Put one hand on your cock.’

The voice seemed to come from far away; Ichigo recognised the shape of the words, but their meaning was far, far out of his grasp. But they were near enough to ground him. They had brought him back to reality, brought him back to the stretching and the pain and the filthiness. His filthiness.

‘Jerk yourself off. Hard. _Now_. Anyone who goes past will see you just like that, stretched out and jacking yourself off, moaning like a whore.’

Ichigo’s hand never even reached his cock; the sheer image Kensei’s words painted in his head overwhelmed him, and he came, so sudden and shattering it left him without the breath to cry out, so absolute it shuddered his body and snapped his back into a sharp arch, his come spraying Kensei’s shoulder and neck, going on and on until he thought it would obliterate him, that there would be nothing left of him when the orgasm faded. He was dimly aware of Kensei jerking his cock out of him, of being pushed to the ground and feeling Kensei’s come spurting hot and sticky into his face and hair, leaking down his cheeks and onto his neck.

The bright, hot pleasure faded, and Ichigo was on the ground, sobbing; suffocating, dry sobs quaking through his body. He felt… filthy. He knew he was – there was dirt on his body, becoming mud where it mingled with his sweat and clung to him, and there was come, his and Kensei’s, cooling on his skin. But that… that didn’t matter. _He_ was filthy. He’d come. He’d liked it. He looked down at his limp cock, at the white fluid it had spurted and spurted, and felt like he wasn’t there, like his body didn’t belong to him anymore. He felt weak. The whole thing was-

**~Exactly what you wanted~**

He had never heard his Hollow sound so sated before.

He heard the sound of a zipper; he looked up to see Kensei fastening his pants, his face in shadow, the blue rotors on the helicopter peeking from behind his shoulders like skeletal wings. The Vizored turned, and didn’t look back when he flash-stepped away.

‘T-thank you…’ Ichigo rasped.


End file.
